Come, Gentle Night
by Vivienne-Devereaux
Summary: Two women, both alike in dignity in fair France where we lay our scene... Ilona, Princess of Cython, a fierce island nation in the Atlantic, is sent to France to learn the ways of the court and forge an alliance by way of marrying Francis. Mary, is currently betrothed to Tomas, but secretly loves, and is loved by, Bash.


A sprawling sea stood between Ilona, Crown Princess of Cython, and her new home. Well, a sprawling sea and Mellasai, Ilona's French tutor of sorts. Mellasai, a French native, had been working with Ilona since the talks between France and Cython had begun a few years earlier.

Mellasai had been prattling on like a seagull for the better part of the journey about preparation and propriety. About the rules and traditions of her new home… "…and you will be in skirts for the entirety of your stay in France."

A wave crashed into the side of the gigantic ship, causing both women to scramble for something to hold onto. Ilona brushed a soaking strand of hair from her face when the intense rocking subsided. "I'm sorry? Did you say 'skirts?'?"

With as much fury as the small woman could muster, Ilona's companion got to her feet, and said to the nearest crew member, "Would you tell your Captain to kindly—" Mellasai seized him by the collar and yelled mercilessly, "—control this ship!" Eyes wide, the crew member scurried off as soon as Mellasai released him. Mellasai cleared her throat, straightened her overcoat, "Yes, Your Highness, I did say 'skirts.'"

Ilona looked down at her own salt-water soaked attire with horror. Ilona's clothes were mostly black; Black boots, black trousers, black vest. The flowing cotton undershirt was the only white of her outfit. Ilona chose her clothing by functionality while aboard the vessel and elsewhere. Dresses simply were not practical. Anyhow, dresses were for formality-sake on the island of Cython. "But why?"

"Proper French ladies wear dresses at all hours of the day, Your Highness. Trousers are for men and savage-women."

Several crew members rushed past them, muttering formalities as they went by. Captain Roderick Salt, an olive-skinned former pirate, ascended to the bow of the ship with a spyglass in hand. He took a quick peek through the device before shoving it at his aging First Mate with a laugh.

The Captain bowed dramatically with a flourish of his hand, "France is in sight, Highness. Your Prince awaits." He turned, slamming both hands onto the side of the railing, "Not much to look at! Ha! No country can surpass the beauty of Cython!" He turned to the men and yelled, "Swing the lead, gentlemen! Twenty minutes to Port!"

There were yells coming in from all sides of the ship as they closed in on France. Ilona stood at the bow, steadying herself by way of a masting rope as she gazed at her new home. "Master Jericho?" She called to the First Mate, not taking her eyes off of the coast. When there was no response, she called again, looking over her shoulder, "Master Jericho! I would have that spyglass!"

The First Mate hurried to Ilona's side and gave her the device. "Apologies, Highness."

Ilona had hardly put the spyglass to her eye when Mellasai's voice startled her. "Does he look like the portrait?" The older woman was standing below Ilona on the deck.

"I don't know yet; I haven't spotted them." Ilona responded, resuming her search.

The coast of France was a pleasant beach surrounded by rocky, uneven hills further up. There was a caravan of coaches and horses just to the left of where they were due to land _The Pompeii._ Several stern looking guards waited with seemingly bored ladies and servants. Below them, on the beach, were two men.

The men waited in front of armed guards on the beach. Both of them wore black. The elder of the two was taller and dressed down. He stood slightly back from the second, as if he didn't quite belong. The other man was almost of equal height, with blond hair. That must be Francis.

"What does he look like?" Mellasai prodded.

Ilona took the spyglass down, not having realized that she'd voiced her thoughts aloud. "Pleasant enough, from this distance anyhow." She sighed, jumping down from the edge of the ship, "Doesn't really matter what he looks like though, does it? I'll have to go to bed with him either way if the alliance goes through."

"We should get you changed into your dress, Your Highness." Mellasai put a hand on the small of Ilona's back, guiding her to her cabin.

Ilona jerked away with a mischievous smile, "Absolutely not!" At Mellasai's startled look Ilona explained, "All of this sea water would be the death of that—" Ilona searched for the word, "—beautiful charm of a dress!" As if on cue, sea water misted the two women. "I should wait to change until we arrive at the castle."

"At least let me right that bird's nest, Your Highness." Mellasai didn't wait for permission; she went about untangling Ilona's long, dark hair with her fingers before putting it back into a braid.

"Satisfied?" Ilona asked, keeping the smile from her face. The poor woman was almost in tears from the stress of their arrival. Mellasai pressed her lips together and nodded. "Good. Thank you." Ilona led Mellasai to the cabin that they shared, "Now ready my things to be removed from the ship."

"Five minutes to port!" Came the call from the crow's nest.

Mellasai rushed away in a huff, muttering to herself "They're going to think that she's a heathen! It will be the end of my reputation. That's what I get for marrying a foreigner! I should've settled down with a nice French farmer!"

There were calls from all around.

"Drop anchor!"

"Ready the longboats!"

Captain Roderick Salt approached Ilona once again, holding out his hand for her to shake, "It has been a pleasure, Your Highness."

She smiled fully, "Yes, it's been great fun, Captain." Ilona admired Captain Salt greatly not only because he was a great seaman, but because he had the nerve to treat her equally when she was a full-blooded royal.

"May I?" He asked, offering her his arm as an escort.

"But of course." Ilona took his hand as she stood upon the side of the ship and began climbing down the rope. Her feet landed solidly on the bottom of the longboat a few moments later, steadied by the crew members already in place. Master Jericho took Mellasai by the waist and lowered them both down. She landed with a yelp. Once the Captain made his descent and was safely in the boat, they began the final leg of their journey to France.

* * *

Francis was anxious.

He'd been anxious since Tomas, the Bastard of Portugal, had arrived at their home. Everything had gone wrong since then. Mary had chosen to marry the bastard after His father, The King, would not send aide to Scotland. As he looked back, he realized that she had done the right thing for her country and that was all that he could ask. Love was not in the cards for people like them, as Nostradamus would say. He had never really loved Mary. He cared about her, yes, but love wasn't it. Love was what he saw when he caught Bash looking at Mary. Sebastian may be his elder brother, but that did not mean that he was smarter. Tomas would kill Bash if he had even the slightest suspicion.

Francis's anxiousness had reached its peak when Bash brought him the news that he would more than likely be marrying the Crown Princess of Cython. And then he saw the portrait. The poor woman was disfigured. In the portrait, her dark hair was short, there was a large protruding scar across half of her face, and she had six fingers on one hand. Not to mention, she was his mother's age. "Ah, Brother," Bash had sighed upon the sight of her portrait, "I believe that you have drawn the short straw in this instance."

It felt as if a frog had made itself a home in Francis's throat as the crew vacated the ship. The Prince shuffled his feet, put his hands stiffly behind his back, and cleared his throat.

"Nervous to meet your bride?" Bash asked.

Francis didn't have to look back; he could hear the smile in his half-brother's voice. "It is not certain that we will marry."

Bash sighed, clapping Francis on the shoulder and was serious for probably the only time in his life, "We can only hope." The foreigners made their way up the beach. As they came closer, Francis spotted his bride to be; the six fingered woman with the scar. "Dear God." He heard Bash mutter beneath his polite smile. The woman was just as the portrait had portrayed her…

She approached Francis and curtsied.

Francis swallowed noticeably, locking his jaw together before he bowed at the waist, "Your Highness."

The woman's eyes widened in horror.

A hearty chorus of laughter rang out and echoed off of the hills. One voice stuck out from all the others. It was female, young, and beautiful.

"Your Highness!" The woman in front of Francis screeched. He and Bash winced. The laughter continued from the unseen female. She slowly made her way through the crew and came to stand beside the other woman.

She was beautiful like her laugh. Not like Mary was beautiful, but in a different way. Where Mary had been soft and feminine, this woman was angular and hard. Her dark hair was pulled back in a braid from her slightly tanned face and wind burned. She wore men's clothing; breeches, a vest, boots. There was a small bruise forming just below her jawline.

When the small crowd had calmed, she spoke. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Highness." She swept into a ridiculous curtsy, considering her attire.

Francis let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "You are Princess Ilona."

She smiled again, "And you are Francis, Crown Prince of France."

"Just Francis."

"Just Ilona, then."

"You Highness?" The screeching voice was softer this time.

Ilona turned to her companion. "Yes, Mellasai?"

The older woman cleared her throat. "You sent Prince Francis the portrait you commissioned for me, in your stead?"

"Yes." She turned back to the Prince, "It was a test."

"A test of what, Your Highness?" Bash asked, coming to stand closer to his brother.

"To see whether your country truly wanted the alliance with my brother, or he wanted a pretty wife." She looked Francis up and down without shame, "You're taller than I expected."

Francis blinked stupidly. This princess was not what he'd expected in the least. She was cunning, smart, and mischievous. "Shall we go?" Francis offered her his arm, trying to restore what dignity of his had been damaged.

Ilona smiled and took it. "We shall."

* * *

Everyone was rushing about. "They'll be arriving any minute now!" Kenna said as she put the finishing touches on their Queen's dark hair. For the arrival, the ladies had dressed Mary in a gown of yellow, which Mary said should communicate warmth and friendship toward Princess Ilona of Cython. Kenna pinned the last of the pearls into Mary's hair and gave her the hand mirror.

A smile graced the young woman's face when she saw her reflection. "Thank you, Kenna. It's perfect."

Moments later, the ladies were on their way to the castle entrance to welcome the new arrival. "I know how exactly how she must feel." Mary said softly to Aylee as the caravan of carriages approached.

"Do you think that she really has six fingers?" Kenna asked excitedly.

"She has six fingers!" Greer exclaimed, earning them the glare of a few of the surrounding nobles. "How do you know?" She asked in a more hushed tone.

Kenna covered her mouth with her hand and whispered, "I saw the portrait when I passed by the King's rooms yesterday morning! She's hideous."

"Ladies!" Mary hissed, disappointed that they should judge Princess Ilona. "What if she does? What if she has two heads and breathes fire?" The women hushed at her tone, "We shall still welcome her and be friendly because we know what it is like to be a stranger in a new country."

Bash rode ahead on a black stallion. He dismounted, giving the reigns to one of the ready stable boys and approached Mary. Her heart fluttered as he turned to her and their eyes met. His were like a never-ending sea; Mary would love to get lost in them someday… "Your Majesty. Ladies." He bowed to Mary and then to her ladies before taking his place beside his mother and father, The King. Catherine de Medici shot him a glare. Mary almost pitied her for a moment. She seemed never to be happy.

The wheels of the grandest carriage squeaked as they came to a stop in front of the stone path. A footman opened the door and Francis exited first. He extended his hand toward the shaded inside of the carriage. He was smiling. It was good to see him smile.

A five-fingered hand took hold of his and a beautiful young woman exited the carriage. A beautiful young woman wearing men's clothing. There was a noticeable gasp throughout the court. Francis whispered something to her and she laughed softly.

Queen Catherine looked absolutely furious, her face red as a tomato, as the couple approached. "Mother, Father, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court!" Francis announced and everyone grew quiet, "I am pleased to present Her Highness, Princess Ilona of Cython."

The King kissed her hand and exchanged formalities as another woman exited the next carriage. It was the woman that Kenna had described from the portrait. Mary pitied her; not for her appearance, but for how the people of the court were staring at her. The woman took her place behind her Princess and said nothing.

Princess Ilona approached Mary next. "Your Majesty." She bowed her head slightly as Mary did in return, "I am very pleased to meet you. I have heard wonderful things about you."

"You as well, Your Highness."

"Please, call me Ilona. I'm afraid I'm not used to the formalities, except for from Lady Mellasai." Ilona guided the disfigured woman forward. "She has been my guide throughout our journey and a true friend. I value her counsel above all other, save when it comes to fashion."

Mellasai laughed, and curtsied to Mary and her ladies. "And you may call me Mary. May I present my ladies? Kenna, Aylee, Lola, and Greer."

The ladies began to chatter to one another and Mary lost sight of the conversation as she searched through the crowd for any sign of Bash. He'd apparently disappeared in the few moments that Mary had been distracted by her new friend.

"Your Highness? May I make a request?" Mellasai spoke up to Ilona, gaining Mary's attention once again. "Do not commission any more portraits of me again." Everyone shared a laugh at this, even Francis. "Ever."

* * *

Bash was tired of formalities. He planned to sneak off as soon as everyone was distracted by the foreigners. His father was especially entertained by Captain Salt. Bash, on the other hand, was bored. Tomas was nowhere to be found, so he didn't have anyone to hate, his brother was obviously infatuated with the Princess, and Mary…Mary was being herself. She was kind and courteous and beautiful.

Bash wanted so much to be with her. Not as the French King's Bastard son and the Queen of Scots, but to just be a boy and a girl in love. But he couldn't even say the words. He hadn't even kissed her, but Bash knew that Mary was the only one that he would ever love. Sometimes, their eyes would meet and he would hope for an instant that she felt the same way. But it could never be.

Even when she was betrothed to his brother, even when they were children. He knew that they had a connection. One that ran deeper than politics or friendship, or even love.

Bash watched Mary laugh as she talked with Princess Ilona. Her eyes lit up and she stole a glance at him. There it was. The spark. The love that Bash so desperately desired danced in her eyes. He looked away almost immediately. He looked away because he knew that if he didn't, he would never be able to look away again.

Bash settled further into the plush velvet chair in the grand library, burying his nose further into _The Iliad._ He tried to wipe the hurt he'd seen in Mary's eyes from his mind.

A new friend would do her well.

A new friend would make her happy.

Bash could make her happy.

But it could never be.

* * *

**Thoughts, comments, criticism, send 'em my way!**


End file.
